


Mirror of Manacles

by Inaiya



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal, First Time, M/M, No Beta, Virginity, blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inaiya/pseuds/Inaiya
Summary: Shadowhand Essek Thelyss finds himself to be the new owner of a mirror from the Empire…





	1. Chapter 1

Shadowhand Essek Thelyss regarded his latest acquisition with a practiced eye: an incredibly-ornate, full-length mirror that—if he were being honest with himself—was incredibly ostentatious and really, very much not his taste. It had, however, been a gift, and so now it hung in a position of honor in his living room... at least until etiquette dictated that he could remove it, and then he could promptly order it moved to the darkest closet, where it could forever reign as the eyesore of the Empire.

He was curious, though, as to why anyone had bothered dragging such a cumbersome item all the way from the Empire to Rosohna. After all, it had to have undergone quite the rigorous inspection, even just to cross the border, never mind the more in-depth investigations to have been permitted to hang in his living room. Would it not have been easier to simply allow it to drift into whatever shop was unfortunate enough to be cursed with its presence, knowing full well it would never sell?

Essek sighed, taking a seat on the settee and regarding the mirror with a calculating gaze.

Someone had wanted him to have this, as a gift, but who and what for? Possibly this same someone had gone through a great deal of trouble and cost to have this carried over from the Dwendalian Empire, but for what reason? Perhaps as an insult? A large, over-filigreed monstrosity whose glass was tinted by soot—perhaps from a fire in its previous home?—who would dare wish him such...poor décor?

He was certainly determined to find out.

\---

_You will be safe here, hurry, get inside! I swear I will come back for you, I swear!_

Pale blue eyes opened as he sat up in a cold sweat, faced the with same sight as the past several years.

Gray-black stones of various sizes, totaling 52,218. Ninety-three of them with a vein of copper running through the face. Three with cracks. Four paces from the middle, a stone higher than the rest. He had tripped over it for the first five years of his impromptu imprisonment here.

“What are you hiding?”

The voice caught him off guard, turning to face the misted glass on the inside of Mirror of the Manacle.

It took time for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he gasped and immediately pressed his back against the wall opposite the glass. It was then he remembered no one could see or hear him, but he could write on the glass or pass small objects into or out of the mirror, as he’d practiced while the contraption had been in storage somewhere in the Academy.

The shudder that shook his body brought a familiar sense of cold to him, enough to shake him back to current events and to look over his new surroundings, but the figure before the mirror held his attention currently.

White hair, black skin, deep blue eyes, all wrapped in an elaborate mantle, deep purple and black robes, and... and nothing. The rest of his body was completely hidden by the expensive-looking fabric.

_Crick_. The word intruded on his otherwise scrambled thoughts. How? How had a mirror stored in the Soltryce Academy ended up hanging on the wall of an enemy of the Empire?

How long had he been asleep?


	2. Chapter 2

Essek had tried every spell available to him in an attempt to learn the secret of the mirror. He was certain it had been properly inspected upon entering Dynasty borders, but something about it simply did not make sense.

The mirror was magical, that much he had noticed on the first day, but what did it _do_? He spent much of his free time studying the mysterious mirror: frame, glass, backing... anything and everything.

So far his studies had found runes and arcane symbols, but as to their meaning... Essek enjoyed puzzles, certainly, but this was near-maddening.

What was he missing? Even attempting to identify it magically had only told him the mirror was magical, but nothing on the nature of the magic, how it had been created, how it worked, or any other vital information. He was so sure it was important, perhaps a clue to who had sent it? Or to something even more pressing? Was someone attempting to tell him to reflect on his decisions?

Perhaps a glass of wine and some sleep would aid him in solving this problem.

~

Bren brushed a wayward piece of red-brown hair from his face as he studied the cri... _Kryn_ in front of him.

He was elegantly-dressed as usual, in clothes he was certain cost more than his parents had ever made in their lifetime.

Every now and again the Kryn would stand in front of the mirror, seemingly staring through the enchantments and into the stone chamber Bren had occupied for gods knew how many years.

_No matter_. He refocused on his people-watching. It was most assuredly the more important task.

When he wasn’t fixing his piercing blue gaze into the glass, Bren saw that Essek studied magic, though it as far different than anything he had ever studied at the Academy. From what he had seen these last few days, the dark-skinned man was very gifted and advanced in a magic Bren couldn’t identify, and he had been somewhat of a prodigy himself.

There were similarities to what he had seen at Soltryce, yes, but it was nowhere near this level of... purity. Yes, that seemed to be the word he was looking for.

He had to admit, Essek’s magic fascinated him; it was so beautiful.

By far his favorite thing, however, was that a table had been pushed against the wall beneath the mirror, and sometimes Essek would leave his books there within easy reach of Bren’s invisible mage hand. Better still was when Essek was away from the house and Bren was able to summon his cat familiar, Frumpkin, outside of the mirror to scout around the house while Bren looked through his eyes in hopes of finding anything that may be of use. Afterward he would grab nearby books, read them, copy what he could, and then leave them in odd places for Essek to find.

His favorite (so far) was on top of the wrought-iron light hanging from the ceiling, followed closely by underneath a couch cushion. He had enjoyed the look of confusion on the otherwise perfectly-composed man’s face. The memory alone was enough to make him smile.

Then, as always, a thought, unbidden, trod upon his happy memories. What of the Empire?

And that single, sobering thought caused him to shake so much that he had to try four times to snap his fingers to bring Frumpkin into his lap, the purring allowing him to time his breathing to the sound and attempt to reorganize his thoughts.

Here he was, a born and bred child of the Empire, admiring not only the magic of the Kryn Dynasty, but a—from what he had been able to gather—a high-ranking member of aforementioned Dynasty at that. Just what was he hoping to achieve with all this? He couldn’t very well send messages to, well, anyone, and even if he could, what would he say? Who to even send it to?

Frumpkin’s purring grew louder, echoing off the stone walls.

_Fifty-two thousand, two hundred eighteen stones_. He thought, reciting the familiar numbers and enunciating them clearly in his mind. _Ninety-three of them with copper veins on the surface. Three cracked. Four paces from the center a stone is higher than the others_.

No. He had burnt many bridges to get to where he was now, and there had been so many valid reasons for him to do so.

He had escaped Soltryce Academy, had escaped Ikithon’s grasp, and he certainly wasn’t ever going to return. He brought his knees up to his chest, Frumpkin taking the opportunity to climb onto his shoulders and flop around his neck like a scarf. Wrapping his bandaged arms around his legs, one hand petting the cat’s head and the other gripping the necklace he’d worn to ensure he was never found by the Academy, or anyone else, again.

Taking a deep breath, he fought hard to control the rising tide of emotions and memories that threatened to send him spiraling into a deep sleep again. He had to stay in the present, to decide what to do now that he was... here.

_How odd, ja?_ He mused quietly to Frumpkin. _To find a strange sort of... freedom? In Xhorhas, no less. What do you think I should do, meine Lieblings Katze?_ He asked, paying more attention to the warm cat‘s cheeks.

First things first: he was trapped inside a mirror in the home of a high-ranking Dynasty official, may, in fact, be there for quite some time until one of them figured out how to open it.

Second: Should he _help_ the drow open it? Alert him to his presence in his home? The worst that could happen would be for the man to shatter the mirror and for Bren to... actually he wasn‘t sure what would happen to him, but whatever it was would probably be the punishment he deserved after all these years, for everything he had done.

_Watch_. He thought. _Learn. Have Frumpkin scout more, grab books. I can take my time to study them, find out what is really going on here. After that, I can make my decision on what to do about my unwitting host. I need more information on Xhorhas_.

He would entertain thoughts of betraying his country later.


	3. Chapter 3

Bren looked down at the scraps of paper he had assembled in front of him, trying to organize his thoughts into some semblance of recognizable order rather than the barely-controlled chaos before him.

He had studied many things while the Kryn man was away, by summoning Frumpkin outside the mirror and using the cat’s senses to search the house. He had found a study with many books whose titles he could not read—an indicator of a possible language barrier if he ever got the urge to communicate—a modest desk whose drawers were all locked either with a key or by magic, and, perhaps the most important discovery at this point, a stack of plain, unused paper and a pencil.

He had taken the lot of it, which had been quite the process as he’d had to maneuver Frumpkin to push the pile of paper within his line of sight in order to mage hand them into the mirror. At last, however, he could write down everything he remembered, as well as take notes of what he had seen fairly recently.

He had titled a few pages in an effort to focus on one thing at a time: mirror, house, Xhorhas, and help.

**Mirror**

  * given to Trent by the Archmage of Antiquity, Vess DeRogna, after she was done studying it
  * kept in a locked room in the Academy, Trent had the only key
  * designed to hold only one person at a time, activated by an incantation or a word, currently unknown
  * impossible to escape on one’s own (?)
  * there is a type of stasis inside, where neither food nor bathing is required, but clothing wears thin and tatters at a normal rate



**House**

  * library (many books in unknown language)
  * usually empty, quiet
  * one, maybe two servants



**Xhorhas**

  * located in eastern Wynandir
  * ruled by the Kryn Dynasty
  * capitol: Rosohna (formerly Ghor Dranas)
  * dark outside, even in the morning hours



**HELP**  
Pros

  * get out of the mirror (?)



Cons

  * out of the mirror = in Xhorhas
  * inevitable discovery by the Kryn
  * possible jail or death
  * interrogation



He sighed, stretching his fingers to alleviate the cramp in his hands, a good, familiar pain. A welcome distraction from the monotony of sitting against the stone looking out into the empty room.

Looking down at the pages, Bren looked at the pros versus cons of his list. Getting out of the mirror was his top priority, certainly, but with that came food and new clothing, for instance. The cons were all possibilities, but what if it didn’t happen? What if he was merely imagining the worst possible outcomes? Or another way to look at it:

Was he merely listing things he thought the _Empire_ would do?

Which raised his next question: What had the Empire ever done for him?

He frowned, turning to look at Frumpkin. _Bin ich verückt oder...?_

The cat did nothing.

Grunting in exasperation, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, using the wall to steady himself as he began pacing with a wobble in his step.

He had joined the Soltryce Academy at fifteen after living in poverty with his parents. At seventeen, Trent had told them their parents were plotting against the Empire and... and then Bren had sought to escape, having been pushed into the mirror by...

_Nein, nein, not now. You have more important things to think about._

Going back to his notes on the mirror, he flipped it over and began listing questions.

1\. Does time move differently inside the mirror? How long have I been inside?  
2\. What happens if I leave the mirror?  
   a. do I retain my memories of having been inside?  
   b. do I remember anything?  
3\. What will become of me?  
4\. What do I tell them?  
5\. What has the Empire brought me but pain and suffering? Why should I owe them anything more than my disdain?

The last question startled him more than anything, more than the prospect of losing his memories once outside. His mind had just seemed to ramble on without him even being aware of the path it was taking.

But now he considered it.

_If... if I were to... to become a traitor, I... what more can I lose? They have already taken everything from me, and given more pain than anything remotely useful or worthwhile. This..._ He paused, leaning down to pick Frumpkin up and hold him gingerly under his little arms. _This could be my chance to return the favor, not only on... him, but also the whole of the Assembly._

Frumpkin held Bren’s gaze as he blinked slowly, eyes narrowing as a low purr began to rumble beneath his fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

Essek had almost forgotten how boring politics could be until he was sat in his living room having to listen to a mind-numbing report on the current state of affairs without a reasonable way to excuse himself without being... impolite, at best.

“...furthermore, the Queen requests that...”

“Elas.”

Slightly older than Essek, Elas was in charge of delivering and reading missives marked to be urgent. He stopped and risked peeking from the page he had been so intent on reading.

“Yes, Shadowhand?”

“I shall oversee the matter personally.”

“Oh of course, Shadowhand, but I have yet to finish the first page and...”

“I am fully capable of reading the rest.” Somehow he managed to keep his tone from being too clipped, but Elas seemed to understand the words he was not saying just fine.

Nervously, Elas lay the pages on a side table, bowed, and turned to leave to deliver the rest of the letters in the bag at his side.

Waiting until he heard the door close, Essek exhaled the breath he had not known he was holding, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate the headache that had started roughly the moment Elas had begun reading.

How much longer would the war last?

He knew it was a futile question, the Queen had already made clear they would not stop until every last inch of the Empire had paid for their crimes, but Essek grew weary of the constant hyper vigilance, meetings late into the night, and especially missives coming at any and all hours to be read to him by someone with nothing better to do than stand in his living room to read four or more pages of a report that may or may not even be for him.

Essek rose from the couch and made his way to stand before the mirror, ignoring his reflection and trying desperately to see something, anything, he may have missed the first twenty times he had looked upon it.

Even more exhausting than the war was the perpetual loneliness expected of someone in his position. While he had never desired to spend time with those his own age, preferring instead to study and the company of books, he would have liked to at least have had an option to be less... official.

Propriety, politics... it was all so tiring.

And then the mirror had come. No real reason given other than it was a gift, no mention as to who it was from, and, most agonizingly, whenever he sought answers within its depths, there was still only his own face looking back at him.

Sighing, he raked his fingers through his hair and turned sharply away from the perplexing looking glass. If he were going to find something, he reasoned with himself, he would have done so by now. It was nothing more than an odd, eccentric gift from a person who had no taste.

Sitting on the couch with an indignant huff, he put his legs up and turned his back to the mirror, too tired to go upstairs for a proper night’s rest. There would be no point anyway, as he expected a messenger in the middle of the night, as had become fairly regular. Besides, when did he ever have four full hours to himself?

#

On the other side of the glass, pale blue eyes watched as the disgruntled dark elf seemed to glide over to the couch, put his feet up—boots and all—and turned over.

Elves, he remembered, did not need sleep as humans did, though the mirror seemed to negate this as well as the need for food or drink. Still, they did require four hours of—trance, did they call it?—though they were semiconscious, executing mental exercises in place of dreams. He found the whole thing to be an odd yet useful evolutionary trait.

 _Do it again, it must be natural._ He thought, pacing while wringing his hands. _My name is Caleb Widogast. I come from a place called Blumenthal, near Rexxentrum. Yes, I know it is in the Empire, but I can assure you that I no longer have any ties to that place. I am alone here and, quite honestly, completely at your mercy._

He stopped his pacing as he remembered slim, elegant black-skinned fingers disappearing into short, fine, silvery-white hair.

A quick mental shake and he was back to practicing his not quite a lie, but not fully the truth story. A new name had been necessary for his own protection, so he had surrounded it with the truth regarding where he was from and that he was alone in Xhorhas. If he stayed fairly close to the truth, there would be no reason for anyone to assume he was lying, which meant, if necessary, he could lie later and he would likely be believed. Still, if he were to betray the Empire, he needed a solid rapport and an absolute assurance of his safety would be guaranteed here in Xhorhas... wherever ‘here’ was.

_My name is Caleb Widogast. I do not know how old I am or where I am, but I am from Blumenthal in the..._

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye, movement from within the house. Stepping up to the glass, he attempted to separate the shadows from each other, but his human eyes could only see as far as the dim light in the living room.

 _Frumpkin, geh doch, bitte._ He thought, snapping his fingers for Frumpkin to disappear from the mirror’s interior and reappearing to the side of the couch.

The shadows moved, a figure stepping from them and seemingly wearing the shadows themselves, their gaze trained on the resting Kryn and something held in their hand, but Caleb couldn’t see it clearly enough.

He moved Frumpkin stealthily around the couch, closer to the intruder. If he could wake his host without alerting the other, then he felt he would be that much closer to being free of the mirror. At the very least he felt he would be doing a favor, and weren’t elves keen on not owing anyone? Maybe?

While Frumpkin kept eyes on the figure, Caleb used his mage hand to knock a glass off the little side table.

Nothing.

 _Try again, don’t be obvious._ His thoughts grumbled, the invisible hand reaching to pull the pillow out from beneath... no, that didn’t work either.

As a last ditch effort, Caleb focused on the hand gripping the sleeping Kryn’s ankle and yanking the leg as hard as it could, managing to pull it over just enough that his body couldn’t balance and his ever-elegant and dignified host fell to the floor with a start. While that had been happening, Frumpkin snuck up behind the intruder and slammed his side against their legs, casting shocking grasp in a coordinated attack between Caleb and his familiar.

Lightning crackled around the figure’s feet, and the man on the floor shook himself, looking up at the equally-shocked figure.

“Griam, what are you doing? What happened?”

“You shocked me!” He exclaimed, looking around for the source and finding none as Caleb had summoned Frumpkin to rest about his shoulders. “I came to bring you the book you asked for.”

“Thank you.” He picked himself up, searching the area around the couch for any hint of what had happened. “And I did not shock you.”

Griam didn’t seem to believe him, but didn’t argue any further. “Until next time, Shadowhand, though I may not be as eager to meet up again after this rather unexpected greeting.”

An exasperated sigh left him before he had a chance to stop it. “Good eve, Griam. Would you mind compiling similar books should I require them?”

“Of course, Shadowhand, as you wish. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Essek waited a moment. Two. Heard the door close with a gentle click.

“Now then, little creature, where are you hiding?”


	5. Chapter 5

Caleb found it hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, mouth having gone dry as he watched this ‘Shadowhand’ search the living room. He was methodical, going so far as to use magic while he searched.

He did find it strange, however, that if this Shadowhand was as high-ranking as he seemed, why were people barging into his house at all hours of the night? Did the Kryn not have locks on their doors? Perhaps they were too assured of their own abilities to bother using them? Except, that didn’t seem to be the case.

What to do? He’d prepared and practiced what to say, knew his discovery was inevitable, but after only a—how long had it been? He wasn’t sure.—short time? His mind was racing with possibilities: 1) he could send Frumpkin 2) write on the glass 3) send a message 4) do nothing.

At the thought of sending Frumpkin, Caleb took a reflexive step back from the glass, putting a hand on the cat’s head. What if he put Frumpkin back in the room and the Shadowhand kicked him? It wouldn’t take much for the fey creature to be sent back to its own dimension, and Caleb didn’t have the necessary materials to bring him back. The thought of spending the rest of his life in the mirror without Frumpkin was terrifying, and he did his best to stop from shaking but... failing miserably.

Frumpkin chirped beside him, butting his head against Caleb’s cheek as he began to purr.

_Danke, mein Freund. Was denkst du, dass ich machen sollen?_

Frumpkin responded by slapping his paw on Caleb’s head, claws grabbing a piece of hair and beginning to chew on it noisily.

_Nein! Oh du böse Kind..._

Picking Frumpkin up and holding him close to his chest, Caleb turned his attention back to the mirror, hearing a language he didn’t recognize and immediately casting comprehend languages, moving closer to the glass to listen closely.

“I know I saw...where is it? If anyone found out... if Griam had seen it—not that he would have known what it was—but a wizard’s familiar, here? How? Who?”

Caleb grimaced, not even having thought of the trouble his host could have gotten into. If anyone else discovered him or had seen him... what chaos that would have been, for both of them.

Reaching a shaking hand towards the glass, Caleb began to write, hoping the Shadowhand understood common.

#

 Panic had settled into Essek’s chest as he was unable to find the little creature he had seen before, which only made sense if a mage had been doing surveillance on his residence. This, of course, led Essek to wonder what sort of Empire dog had the sheer arrogance to pick _his_ house to spy on.

He would thoroughly enjoy questioning whomever it was. In fact, he would... what was that noise?

Straightening, his ears twitched slightly as he processed the sound, finding it to be grating and fairly unpleasant. Not so bad as nails on a board of slate, but still bothersome.

Temporarily abandoning his search for the animal, he turned slowly to look behind him, wondering what could possibly be making the noise, only to be drawn closer to the mirror, something seeming to shimmer on the glass.

Frowning, he approached it cautiously, bringing a hand up to touch it only to find that it was on the inside of the glass.

_What in the...?_ His brow furrowed further, for as he touched the mirror’s surface, it rippled and formed two words.

_Please help_.

*~*

A/N: Updated early 'cause I love you guys, thank you so much! If all the German is too much, I can start including translations if you like? Please let me know & feel free to suggest any tags - thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

Caleb woke on the floor in a cold sweat, echoes of voices from the past continuing to haunt him. It was those voices that had prompted his faint to begin with, after seeing the words he had written.

_“H-help us! Someone please! Bren.... where is Bren? Did he make it out? Help! Help, someone, please!”_

Curling further into himself, Caleb hugged Frumpkin to his chest and sobbed quietly, though his eyes were dry. He had long ago run out of tears.

A small meow caught his attention, and he watched Frumpkin slowly get up and go to paw at the mirror’s glass.

_Was ist los? Was ist passiert?_

Another, more insistent meow, and Caleb lifted his gaze, instantly startled by the shock of blue mere inches from his face.

The drow man seemed frustrated, as though he had been studying the glass for quite some time and expecting a different result but growing increasingly disappointed.

“My name,” he spoke in accented Common, his voice lilting and calm, though with impatient undertones, “is Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, of Den Thelyss. Tell me who you are or otherwise give me an answer as to your purpose.”

_Essek_. Caleb tested the name in his thoughts. _Mr. Thelyss? Sir Thelyss? L-Lord Thelyss?_

He was murmuring to himself now, and Caleb quickly cast comprehend languages again.

“...have studied magical mirrors but this is unlike any I have seen...”

Crawling forward, Caleb lifted himself up and drew shakily with his finger on the surface, glad he didn’t have to worry about writing backwards.

_I am here. I am,_ he paused, wondering how best to explain it in a short amount of words, _trapped. Inside_.

He watched the frown appear on the drow’s face, saw him sit back in what Caleb could only assume was thoughtfulness, as any expression was very carefully concealed.

“Trapped, then, but that does not give me any answer as to who you are or what your purpose is.”

He thought for a moment, knowing if he gave answers too readily it could be seen as a carefully-crafted Empire plan. Too stingy, however, would possibly have the same effect. He had to hope that answering (mostly) truthfully and fairly quickly would be better than taking his time.

_Caleb_ , he wrote, finger sliding across the glass easily, _freedom_.

#

Essek watched the mirror with fascination. If all was to be believed, there was a person inside this mirror by the name of Caleb—what kind of name was that? He would research it later—whose only purpose was seeking a way to be free of this mirror.

Yet... people were not locked into mirrors for no reason, and there were numerous entities that would enjoy posing as a helpless soul for whatever nefarious deed they had in mind.

How had this not been discovered prior to now? Or did someone know full well the story of this mirror, and had purposefully sent it to Essek for this very reason? There had been no card, nothing to hint at the sender of the gift, only a large package sat in the middle of his living room. He had only known of the arrival of the gift earlier in the day.

Had someone planned this? What was the reason? What purpose could someone have for sending him this cursed item? Perhaps this “Caleb” person would know? Otherwise, perhaps asking more questions would cause the creature to slip and reveal itself as a darker entity.

There was only one way to be sure.

“Tell me where you are from.”

#

This was a critical time: Caleb needed this Essek Thelyss person to believe him, to even trust him, to a degree.

But how? Everything he had ever heard of the Dynasty was through the lenses of the Empire: “Damned Cricks,” or “backward gits,” and worse, so much worse. Perhaps... perhaps he was going about this all wrong, however. There had to be an easier way, and he hoped he could find it soon.

“Tell me where you are from.”

The question caught Caleb off guard and he pushed himself up to sit cross-legged as he regarded his interrogator. He leaned forward to write.

_Blumenthal - Empire - Rexxentrum_.

“And what did you do there?” There was something to his voice that reminded Caleb of... before, but he did his best to push past it and merely file it away for later study if necessary.

How much to say?

_Soltryce Academy, student._

If Shadowhand Thelyss knew anything of the Academy, he didn’t say, keeping his face clear of emotion and his voice measured. “What kind of student?”

_One of the best_.

“I think I can safely infer, then, that you are responsible for the relocation of various books and items in my home while I am away?”

_I am sorry. Wanted to learn_.

“Certainly, I have no doubt of that. How long have you been trapped in this mirror?”

A pause. _What year is it?_

“I believe you would say it is 835 PD.”

Sixteen years? That long? Caleb raked his fingers through his hair and gripped the strands tightly, the tugging sensation helping him to focus. Trent must have been furious after all this time, being unable to find him. More, still, if he ever found out Caleb had been within reach the whole time the mirror had been in storage at the Academy.

A shift caught his attention from the corner of his eye, Shadowhand Thelyss moving a piece of his hair from his face.

_It has been 16 years_ , he wrote finally, pushing memories of the other students aside—now was not the time for that—as he continued writing, _alone_.

“And this learning you sought, what did you hope to achieve? Some of these books were not left in this room, I am curious how you came by them.”

_Slept, for many years. Woke up here. Wanted to know where I was. Xhorhas?_

“You understand, of course, how... curious this appears, yes? The arrival of this mirror suddenly in my living room with a former student of the Empire’s premier academy coincidentally inside.”

_I did not come here purposefully,_ he wrote hurriedly, words slightly lopsided and malformed, _I do not know how I came to be here, I swear._

“How did you come by these books? They were in my study, quite a ways from this room.”

He was trying to see if perhaps Caleb was more powerful than he let on or if he was simply clever, and Caleb had to applaud his attention to detail. Still, he refused to give up his secret without at least something in exchange.

_May I make a request?_

The drow looked ready to say, ‘no,’ automatically but seemed to reconsider. “I will hear it.”

Of course he could make no guarantees that any request Caleb made would be honored, but at least he had agreed to listen.

_Do not hurt him. Please._

Caleb finally saw confusion register on the Shadowhand’s face, and he took advantage of the momentary break in the drow’s guard to summon Frumpkin on the table in front of the mirror. He sat facing the other man, with his little pink tongue sticking out.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the Shadowhand’s shoulders shake slightly as he chuckled.

“So this is how you have been learning my home, is it? Yes, I do imagine it would be fairly simple for you to navigate and take as you please in this manner. This does appear to be the same creature who appeared just before Griam was shocked. Your doing?”

_Yes._

“Why?”

_To help._ He answered simply, watching Shadowhand Thelyss move closer and put his hand to the glass, feeling its cold surface as though attempting to see past it and into the cell beyond.

“You are trapped inside, yes? Yet your magic works both inside and outside the mirror, and you are able to take books inside with you. That is quite the... security risk. Give me one good reason why I should not save myself the trouble.”

A slip of paper was pushed out of the mirror, and he read it carefully. A hit list, and on it the Cerberus Assembly and some of its associates, but also names he did not recognize. Words appeared on the glass.

_I wish to see them burn._

“I see,” he murmured, looking up at the glass with his dark blue eyes, “perhaps we could come to an arrangement, then.”

 

*~*

 

A/N: You guys are amazing, thank you so much! I'm stuck at my grandparents' house for the next few weeks & I don't have a lot of time to write, but I'm trying really hard to work on chapter 9 to maintain my buffer of chapters so that I can keep uploading on Wednesdays for you guys. ^^


	7. Chapter 7

**** “Griam.”

“Good morning, Shadowhand. How may I help you?”

“The book I requested, is it in?”

“It is, will that be all for you today?”

“Yes.”

“This was very hard to get,” Griam murmured as he picked up a decently-sized tome wrapped in oilskin to preserve the book’s cover. “I cannot imagine what you could possibly want with...”

“Your utmost discretion, Griam, if you would.” Essek slid him a gold coin on top of his payment for the book.

“Oh of course! Yes, absolutely. Not a word to anyone.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Light be with you, Shadowhand.”

“Yes, Light be upon you.”

#

Essek clutched the book tightly as he shut the door to his house behind him, pulling the oilskin away and examining the tome carefully.

Gold letters set in black leather glinted softly in the dim light of the foyer. _The Mystery of Mordenkainen’s Mirror of Manacles_. If the research he had done was to be believed, only a handful of these tomes had survived from the Age of Arcanum, perhaps three or four copies remained across Exandria. He hadn’t asked where Griam had found this copy; probably safer that he didn’t know. 

_Often referred to as Mordenkainen’s Mysterious Mirror, this rare and wondrous mirror exists as a unique item of a like that has never been seen before or since its creation. Not to be confused with the Mirror of Life Trapping, which can hold up to twelve creatures at a time, the Mysterious Mirror holds only one creature._

_Like the Mirror of Life Trapping, however, there is an extradimensional cell on the other side of the glass and the creature within need not eat, drink, wash, or sleep. The creature will age at a normal rate for its species and will be kept alive until the bond with the mirror is severed. The mirror’s creator has said..._

Essek walked and read simultaneously, headed towards the couch that faced the now-empty wall of his living room, taking a seat and continuing to thumb through the tome.

Why create such an item? What purpose would there be in such a thing? And the name, Mirror of Manacles, it had to mean more than trapping a person within it, else it would simply be a modified Mirror of Life Trapping.

Too many questions and not enough answers.

Light footsteps reached Essek’s ears as the orange tabby cat hopped up onto the couch beside him, putting a paw on his wrist and giving a single meow, eyes light blue and glowing softly.

“Mr. Widogast, a pleasure.” He said while not taking his eyes off the book. “Find anything of interest today?”

Two slow blinks, a ‘no,’ as they had worked out earlier.

“I see. Did you prepare everything I asked of you this morning?”

One blink: yes.

“Good, I will be upstairs shortly. Have it ready.”

_...whosoever traps a person within the mirror is viewed as their warden and master. Only this person may issue commands to the prisoner inside. Should the prisoner’s master be absent for thirty days or more, the mirror is considered the new warden until such a time as a new master asserts his or herself. To do so, sit with the mirror for at least half an hour to properly attune to the item._

_A warden may summon their prisoner to them provided the prisoner is within earshot of the warden and the proper incantation spoken...._

Essek released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Summon the prisoner directly to him? He could finally see what this Caleb person looked like, could watch his face for any tell-tale signs of lies or half-truths. Finally, a proper interrogation.

He skimmed to the next page until he found the incantation he sought, memorizing it and then opening a small pocket dimension to hide the book inside. Caleb couldn’t steal what he couldn’t find, after all.

#

Heading upstairs, Essek wondered if he perhaps truly had Mordenkainen’s Mysterious Mirror in his possession. What an extraordinary tool for the Dynasty to have, and it had been delivered straight to him, complete with an Empire prisoner inside.

He had first had the idea to research various magical mirrors some time ago, when he had first been studying it, and Griam had offered to special order any books or material he may need. He had thought it only fitting, then, to research mirrors in an attempt to discover what, exactly, was in his living room. After finding out another person resided inside, however, that narrowed the possibilities considerably, and Griam had mentioned a very rare book he may be able to get his hands on.

He still didn’t want to know how the shopkeep had got a hold of it.

“I trust you have the notes I asked for, Mr. Widogast?” He asked, stepping into his study.

_Yes._ The text appeared on the mirror’s surface, a stack of papers passing through the glass and onto the floor.

Bending to pick them up, Essek perused the neat handwriting. Detailed notes on what Caleb remembered of the mirror, how it had been used by this Ikithon person, and other such potentially useful information, all of which Caleb had seemed pleased to give. Perhaps a little hesitant, but cooperative nonetheless.

It was understandable, he supposed. He had tried putting himself in the same position and reasoned that he would not be nearly so forthcoming as Caleb was. Things would go very differently, were the situation reversed.

He took a seat at his desk and pretended to read the notes while focusing on the mirror instead, having already decided to attune to it in order to get the best possible result of the interrogation he was already piecing together.

#

Caleb watched the Shadowhand as he sat at the desk and skimmed the lists he’d made seemingly a lifetime ago. He had spent several days in the study, though he was curious why the drow had allowed him line of sight of all the books therein. His thoughts were that he had been moved so the Shadowhand could conduct business in the living room without Caleb hearing, which he understood, but why give him access to so many books?

What had Lord Thelyss said? _“I cannot wait to see what you do with them.”_ What an odd thing to say.

Some of the books contained spells inside, and Caleb’s fingers itched to try them, but he had no materials, and certainly no room to practice.

Currently he was reading a set of simplified notes that had been transcribed into common for him, which he found to be extremely fascinating and nothing like the Empire had described.

_The Kryn Dynasty is led by the warrior empress Leylas Kryn, of Den Kryn, one of the most powerful of Dens, along with Dens Miriam and Thelyss. These are the only Dens allowed access to consecution, though there are some who have been adopted into the Dens for exemplary work ethic or who show signs of great promise._

Caleb looked up to where his host sat at the regal-looking desk, surprisingly still only on the first page of notes he had written. Odd, given that he was normally a very quick reader.

_Other Dens include Bilan, Olios, Icozrin..._

Words, dissonant in tone and unfamiliar in sound seemed to echo through the room. Curious, Caleb looked about to see the Kryn man speaking and moving his hands very carefully... a spell? But not in any tongue he had spoken before, nor that Caleb had ever heard.

And then it happened.

His hands, pressed against the glass, felt cold. Frost appeared on both sides of the mirror as far as he could tell, and suddenly he was falling, body passing through the cold and his entire body feeling as though it were on pins and needles. When next he opened his eyes, he was looking at the mirror.

From the outside.

“Well, Mr. Widogast,” a lightly-accented voice addressed him from behind, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”


	8. Chapter 8

Caleb froze, dressed in a shabby brown coat, patched scarf, tattered pants and leather boots so worn that his feet were visible through the stitching.

Was he... free? After all this time? His breath caught in his throat, and while he was desperately trying to breathe, came out only as hyperventilation and panic, pulling the scarf up tighter to his face—how long had it smelled this badly?—in an effort to warm himself after the cold of passing through the glass.

And still he was highly aware of the imposing presence behind him.

He did what he felt was his only option: he held his hands up in surrender, lacing his fingers behind his head—he needed a haircut—and closing his eyes. Frumpkin pit-patted over with quickened steps and settled around his neck.

He felt the Shadowhand's cloak flutter past his face as the man seemed to glide to face him. What a mess he must be.

#

A filthy, tattered man had been living in his mirror. Long, ruddy hair, a bushman’s beard, torn clothes... in fact the only thing really discernible were the light blue eyes that he had seen reflected in the mirror’s surface before the human had closed them. Even the cat seemed to blend into the monotone, its eyes wide and ears back.

He had several options open to him, he knew. He could play the kind host, looking to gain the human’s trust in a long, drawn out effort. Could also simply have him taken to the Dungeon of Penance in the Shadowshire and dealt with later, perhaps even personally.

Yet, there was something about this crumpled man before him. Something that reminded Essek of... a lost child looking through family memories, and he had seen more than his fair share throughout the years of conflict.

“Look at me, Mr. Widogast.”

He did, eyes opening slowly and cautiously, the blue almost too bright among the filth surrounding them.

“Lower your hands.” Essek kept his voice soft yet firm, allowing no room for argument while attempting to sound kind. Being a stranger in a strange land was frightening enough, made all the more so considering the circumstances.

#

“You are my guest,” Shadowhand Thelyss was telling him, though the words seemed to come from far away, muffled as Caleb’s heartbeat echoed in his head, “you are welcome to stay here.”

Guest? Of the Kryn Dynasty’s Shadowhand? What did that title even mean? None of the documents discussed it, and the man himself didn’t seem very forthcoming.

“Mr. Widogast?”

Caleb snapped out of his thoughts and looked up into jewel-like eyes that seemed to show genuine… concern? He opened his mouth to answer but his voice, after sixteen years’ disuse, could not form words. Only rasps and hitches of breath.

A comforting hand on his shoulder. “Would you like a bath? Perhaps something to eat?”

If he used his message spell, could he communicate? Did he even want to? He would wait to learn more of what he could before attempting it.

He nodded.

“This way.” He beckoned, leading Caleb to a part of the house he had not seen through Frumpkin’s eyes, mostly because it had not been of interest. “Take your time, there is hot water and it warms fairly quickly. Clothes will be brought to you and left just outside. Meet me in the study when you are finished.”

Caleb headed inside, the door closing with a soft click.


	9. Chapter 9

**** When had he gotten so… _old_?

His reflection in the bathroom’s mirror had startled him, and he’d stopped to stare at the dark circles under his eyes, his gaunt features, and thetangled mess that he supposed could have passed for a beard to… someone? Otherwise he supposed birds would have found it quite nice to nest in.

As he felt like someone on the outside looking in on his own body, he could have passed for a forty year old man. It was a wonder he hadn’t simply disintegrated upon his release from the mirror.

Speaking of which, how had Essek done this? It had to have been him, the spell he so masterfully wove in the air before him. Every part of it had been foreign to Caleb, which was quite the feat given that he was fairly well-learned when it came to the different schools of magic. Notes of it had seemed familiar, and yet their usage was so vastly different than what he had studied… 

_Best not go down that rabbit hole just yet,_ he thought, setting Frumpkin on the sink, and turning the water on in the tub, startled by how quickly it ran, _this is not the time for distractions. We both want information, and I suspect we each have our own methods for getting it. Now more than ever I need to be careful._

A fresh assortment of cleaning products had been set on the edge of the tub, making Caleb wonder just how long in advance the Shadowhand had planned this. Hours? Days? There was even a straight razor and a pair of sharpened scissors. Did Essek really trust him with these items?

Did he trust himself?

Frumpkin growled low at the back of his throat, immediately pulling Caleb away from the intruding thoughts just in time to stop the steaming water.

He stepped out of his well-worn shoes and kicked them to the side, removing his overcoat and scarf next, pausing his undressing only when his hands reached for the straps of the leather holster wherein he kept his two highly-prized books. He forced his fingers to push the leather through until he shrugged out of it and set it neatly by the sink, and Frumpkin promptly sat on them.

Finally naked and standing at the side of the tub, he took a slow step into the water and hissed as the heat seemed to sink past his muscles into his bones. Strange how he had felt neither cold nor aches before now, and yet with that first step into the bath his nerves began screaming with how angry they were after having been kept in that cramped little space for… for _sixteen years_. He nearly doubled over with the sudden rush of feeling, reaching for opposite wall to steady himself as he brought his other foot into the water, seating himself very slowly.

The water closed in around him and immediately silenced it all.

He sunk in further, amazed that he could fully submerge himself if he so wished, and he did, and he dared admit to himself that he enjoyed it. The sheer indulgence of it all… he could certainly see how someone could get used to this.

Sitting back up with a small gasp, Caleb set about scrubbing away a decade and a half’s worth of unpleasantness. While he was not required to bathe within the mirror, he still felt like the bottom of a Rexxentrum gutter.

He washed everything he could reach, head to toe—even the bottoms of his feet—rinsed, and slowly rose from the bathtub to stand, grab a towel, and face himself in the mirror once more.

While he no longer looked quite so old as before—some of the dark, gaunt portions of his face had really just been dirt—the beard was certainly off-putting and needed intense maintenance.

He set to work with the scissors to remove as much of it as he could, keeping only a little and finding himself pleased with the results. He still didn’t like having it, but best keep some sort of disguise just in case. At least ‘mountain man’ was off the table as far as descriptors were concerned.

Then it happened. A searing pain in his gut as an unholy sound erupted from his body, cramping intensifying as he fell to the ground from the pain. What had happened? Was he bleeding? No, everything seemed fine, and then he remembered:

Sixteen years without food. The mirror ensured he didn’t require it, like bathing, but now that he was out of said mirror, apparently his stomach was now acutely aware of absolutely everything and his brain was fuzzily contemplating just how edible the hand towels were.

Reaching for his book holster, his fingertips barely touched it when the cold began wrapping itself around his legs and giving a sharp tug. A rush of color—was he falling?—and then he was back. Back inside the mirror, holster clutched in his grip, and wearing only a towel about his waist.

_Scheiße._

 

#

 

“Excuse me, Shadowhand?”

“Yes, Eluin?”

“Your, uh… guest? I checked on him, as you requested, but I… he’s gone.”

Essek sat up straighter, looking up at Eluin with a frown on his face. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I went to knock on the door and got no answer. Worried, I cracked the door open just a little ways—why didn’t he lock it?—and… and he wasn’t there. His clothes—I think they could be called that—were still on the floor, though, and I doubt he would be running about naked, else someone would have said something, but…”

Just as Essek stood, a strange sort of trumpeting announcement from a trotting tabby sounded as the cat came down the stairs and jumped onto the back of the couch with a note in his mouth.

~~Es tut mir leid~~ _Sorry - C_

Turning, Essek took the stairs two at a time as the cat followed alongside him. He moved so quickly that his footsteps almost made noise as he took long strides to the room where the mirror resided.

There was a message waiting for him on the glass in Caleb’s handwriting.

_Back inside._

What? Why? Had he not been looking forward to bathing and having something to eat?

"I... I do not understand,” he allowed his confusion to show momentarily, “why would you return to...?”

_Time limit?_

Frowning, Essek went to his desk and opened a drawer, then summoned _The Mystery of Mordenkainen’s Mirror of Manacles_ from its pocket dimension to his hand. He kept the title hidden from view of the mirror, still defending its existence and from whence it had come, flipping through the pages hurriedly to find a passage he may have overlooked in his excitement.

 

_... summoning the person from within the mirror will not break the_

_bond between prisoner and mirror. It will only allow them temporary_

_access to the current plane for one to four hours, though some reports_

_allege up to six hours. None of this has been confirmed or tested._

 

_The prisoner’s time in the outside world is randomized; when the time_

_limit—determined by the mirror itself—is reached, the prisoner will be_

_transferred once again into the mirror exactly as they were when_

_outside of it. This has led to many embarrassing situations upon re-_

_summoning… or so some say._

 

_There is some debate over how long the warden must wait before_

_attempting to summon the mirror’s resident again. Some say a few_

_hours while others say the warden must wait until after the dawn of a_

_new day. Again, nothing is confirmed or tested, as very few have ever_

_had the mirror in their possession, and those who did possess it took_

_few notes so as not to leave a paper trail to having such a potentially_

_dangerous device._

 

Essek sighed. How... inconvenient to say the least. Apparently the in-person interrogation and hospitality would have to wait.

Also, as far as this tome was concerned, Essek was fairly disappointed in its theories and lack of any concrete information. Opening the top left drawer of his desk, he pulled out a simple journal made of sheafs of parchment pages bound in red silk thread and began documenting his own experiences and observations with the mirror. If nothing else, he would be _very_ thorough in his note taking.

A thought, however, was nagging at him. Something he had put off to the side while he had been reading, but it surfaced now—of course—while he was trying to do something, so he pushed it back down, intent on completing this task.

He would deal with it later.

 

*~*~*~*

So sorry for the late upload! I totally forgot today was Wednesday >< Also, as a side note, I have run out of my buffer; I'm hoping chapter 10 will be posted on time, and you're always welcome to follow me @Midnight-Grind on tumblr for updates to see the progress. ^^

Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

**** According to Essek’s calculations, Caleb had been out of the mirror for about an hour and a half, give or take a few minutes. As soon as the confusion had been cleared, Essek had attempted the summoning spell every hour on the hour, becoming increasingly frustrated when the spell merely fizzled and dissolved in midair rather than complete its casting.

He refused to wait until after dawn the next day. He knew impatience was ill-becoming of a practitioner of Dunamancy, perhaps even more so as the Shadowhand, but he felt the knowledge to be gained held more value than perhaps even he knew.

The sound of Caleb’s finger on the glass drew his attention to the mirror.

Reading the note, Essek realized it was a word-for-word transcription of one of the books he had given Caleb to read about Xhorhas. Such an incredible display of memory that even Essek felt impressed… and admittedly perhaps even a little jealous. Still, he reminded himself that being trapped in a mirror for such a long time, one would certainly have to find a way to keep their mind sharp, and memorization was a good method to achieve it.

The long paragraph of text disappeared suddenly and Caleb had replaced it with a question.

_Is it working yet?_

Essek wasn’t sure, but he thought he could read desperation in the other man’s text. How cruel it must feel, to have that taste of freedom suddenly ripped away while tending to needs that previously had not been necessary to maintain. He wondered yet again what his own reaction would be were he in Caleb’s place, but attempting to imagine such a scenario only led to a door barely hiding a darker path than he cared to go through at the moment.

“Not yet, no; I will continue trying. You said before that you can fit small objects through the glass, correct?”

_Ja_.

“Is there something I could get for you?”

_Clothes, please?_

He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Just a moment.”

 

#

 

Watching Essek turn and leave the room, Caleb pulled the towel tighter around his waist.

The memory of the cold as he had stepped out of his shoes in the bathroom was still fresh in his memory and, despite the mirror’s interior being reasonably comfortable, he could still feel both the cold and the terrible hunger pains that had gripped him before being taken back into the cursed glass.

Where to go from here?

Picking Frumpkin up and placing him on his lap, Caleb did his best to clear his throat and attempt speaking to the cat, but the sound was barely better than a breathy wheeze. It was imperative that he practice in order to regain the ability to cast his spells; he refused to be at anyone’s mercy ever again. He continued to practice until Essek returned with a small pile of folded clothes and something else sitting on top.

He came up to the mirror and held up the clothing, some sort of rich purple color with—were those jewels sewn onto the fabric?—to the glass, but kept the other item in his hand.

“Here, take these.”

Caleb shook his head, then forgot that Essek couldn’t see him, beginning to write with a shaking hand.

_I cannot_ , he wrote, then added, _I cannot pay for this_.

“I didn’t expect you to. Can you bring these in with you?”

Taking a moment to cast his mage hand, Caleb sent it through the glass and took hold of the clothing. He then carefully guided it inside and was thankfully met with very little resistance.

The fabric flowed over his hands as he examined it. He’d never seen anything like this before, and would wager his parents could never have afforded something like this even if they had been saving for it all their lives. Bringing it up to his cheek, he caught the smell of soap and realized:

These were Essek’s clothes. They didn’t smell brand new, like the inside of a shop; these were clothes that had been taken from a closet and freshly laundered.

Why?

_“You are my guest,” Caleb recalled clearly, remembering the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, sat there on the floor after being pulled from the mirror, “you are welcome to stay here.”_

Was this, perhaps, simply Xhorhasian hospitality? Or was it something of Essek’s design? A way to make him feel comfortable, welcomed, and thus more pliable to extract information? Were he in the Shadowhand’s place, he wasn’t sure he would take the same care and patience.

_What am I talking about? Of course I would not have._ He thought as he set each piece of clothing on the ground to appreciate the ensemble. _Where are the undergarments?_

He shrugged. They weren’t necessary, really.

What _was_ necessary, however, was to stop analyzing Essek’s motives or behaviors based on how he had grown up and studied in the Empire. If the Shadowhand was approaching this from a point of hospitality, he had to have assessed that kindness would be something Caleb wasn’t expecting. It was a valid assessment, and while normally Caleb was well-guarded against such tactics, there was something… sincere in the manner in which Essek was handling all of this.

Which only created more questions than it answered.

Adjusting the clasp on his new outfit, he was grateful he’d managed to take care of the beard, and the sensation of the soft material on his freshly-bathed skin was heavenly and, more importantly, warm.

Looking up at the glass, Caleb saw Essek was still standing in front of the mirror, a small leather pouch held in his hand as he waited for any sort of response.

Embarrassed that he’d kept his host waiting, Caleb wrote out his thanks.

“I do hope it suits you.”

_It fits well, thank you_.

“I brought this as well,” he held up the small pouch to the glass, “are you able to take this?”

This time the mage hand had difficulty bringing the pouch into the mirror, a level of resistance Caleb had not experienced before, but after a few moments he held the small package in his hand and opened it.

A small black orb wrapped in a soft cloth. Caleb did not need to use a spell to know what it was.

Shadowhand Essek Thelyss had gifted him an arcane focus.

_Why?_ He wrote, clutching the orb tightly to his chest.

A soft smile tugged at Essek’s lips, and his eyes seemed to glint mischievously. “I cannot wait to see what you do with it.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

A/N:  I finished my first Camp NaNo with this chapter! So to celebrate, have an early upload. ^^ Over 10,000 words already and we've got a little ways to go before we reach those tags/warnings, lol.


	11. Chapter 11

A letter sealed with dark blue sealing wax sat, unopened, on Essek’s desk. A plain seal had been pressed into the wax to affix it to the parchment envelope, making it untraceable by normal means.

Then again the paper itself had been enchanted with some sort of anti-magic barrier, disallowing Essek from tracking the sender. Such an advanced technique for a thin note piqued Essek’s curiosity as to what could possibly be within.

He carefully slid a silvery letter opener beneath the seal and unfolded it.

_I know what you have._

_Such an incredibly valuable and powerful artifact from the Age of Arcanum, allegedly developed by Mordenkainen himself, though I have my doubts._

_I can tell you about it._

_Send your response via the enclosed sending stone._

_._

_PS: This set of stones has been altered 1) so that neither holder can be spied upon or tracked by magical means 2) only your stone may begin a conversation 3) you may use the stone as many times as you wish._

_I look forward to hearing from you, Shadowhand._

 

Essek stared long and hard at the mysterious missive on his desk, simultaneously hesitant regarding its origin and angered by the tone of its words. The handwriting was not one he recognized, but he did note its flowing script and thought perhaps that whoever had sent it had had access to higher education than the average person.

But, he realized the longer he looked at the script, he _did_ recognize the shape of the letters. Reaching into one of the drawers, he pulled out the collection of notes Caleb had handed him on his own observations from within the mirror as well as any information he had regarding its prior owner. The letters had the same shape, possibly due to the sender also having attended the Soltryce Academy?

Still, that was a line of questioning for another time. Right now he needed to decide just what to do with the letter and the carved sliver of stone that had been carefully stuck to the page with the same blue wax to keep it from moving about in the envelope.

Deciding to take some time to thoroughly analyze the stone, Essek ascertained that the letter appeared to have been truthful, everything that had been written was as it had claimed but for what reason? Was this the person who had sent the mirror? Perhaps a clever trap to…?

He stopped, giving himself a mental shake before locking the sending stone in a box that would block its magic. He needed to ask Caleb about the handwriting, get his opinion before he made any manner of wild assumptions.

Then again, if they could use the sending stone to gather information…

Well, he could certainly try.

#

Twenty hours.

Twenty hours had passed since Essek had first summoned Caleb from the mirror. Arriving home, he went straight to the study, already murmuring the incantation beneath his breath as he entered the room.

Caleb fell out of the mirror with a startled cry dressed only in a towel wrapped tightly about his waist and a leather holster with two books inside, the black orb rolling across the floor while the human man scrambled to catch it, pulling it close to him as he sat up.

Essek had taken a seat at his desk but whatever task he had been about to undertake was interrupted by the sudden sight of a nigh-naked man in the middle of his study.

“Where… are the clothes I gave you?” He asked, perplexed as he did his best to keep his eyes averted for the other man’s modesty.

He grimaced and sheepishly pointed to the mirror, suddenly wrapping his arms about his stomach and curling up on the floor, stomach grumbling angrily. Gasps of pain and distress causing his too-thin frame to shake.

Essek sighed softly as he slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out a small spongy bead, crossing the carpet to kneel at his side and slip an arm to lift the wizard carefully. “Take this and eat. It is a day’s worth of rations. No, keep it in your mouth, it’s safe. It will keep you for the rest of the day, but you must eat it in order for it to work. Good, now swallow.”

Blue eyes looked up at him stubbornly—of all the times to be thickheaded!—but Caleb swallowed and almost instantly felt full. He stopped struggling on the floor and shuddered as he began to notice the chill of the room and yet he was warm because…

Right.

The Shadowhand was still holding him in the crook of his arm.

“Essek…” He stopped, startled by the gruffness that passed for a voice. Even more startling—embarrassing, really—was that he’d used the Shadowhand’s first name, as though he had any level of familiarity with what essentially amounted to the right hand of the Bright Queen… at least, as far as he understood it.

“Feeling better?” He asked, helping Caleb to sit up and stand shakily. “Now, what happened to the clothes I gave you?”

He coughed as he stood, noting that Essek’s… Lord Thelyss’ feet did not touch the ground.

“I… did not wish to dirty them. It is silly, I know, but I…”

“I need your help with something,” he spoke bluntly but kindly, moving towards his desk and pulling out two slips of paper, one of which Caleb had given him a few days sooner, “what do you make of this?”

Picking up both pages, Caleb studied them and frowned before looking at Essek.

“This is,” he stopped to clear his throat, still struggling to speak, “this is… they teach this penmanship at Soltryce Academy. Who sent this?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “it was waiting for me this morning. You confirm, then, that this was penned by a student of the Academy?”

“Yes. I… I also find it strange they would offer assistance, except…”

_You will be safe here, hurry, get inside! I swear I will come back for you, I swear!_

Caleb gave himself a quick shake, attempting to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“Do you plan on using the information they have to give you?” He asked, biting his lower lip nervously. “It could be useful.”

“It could, yes; I am sure it hadn’t escaped your notice, however, that it could also be part of a trap.”

“That… would be a very elaborate trap.”

Essek nodded. “It would. Sending the mirror to me, knowing a student of the Empire was inside, knowing I would discover your presence…”

“All of these are very calculated events and, frankly, highly improbable even for a _Vollstrecker_.”

“Even for you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I…” He stopped, torn between evasion, deflection, and the truth. “Perhaps.”

“But perhaps not.”

“That is correct. A plan like that would indeed be quite the gamble, Lord Thelyss,” there, he made sure to use a proper title this time so as not to seem so… easy, “but I can tell you the dice do not often favor me in games of chance.”

Essek smiled just then, slow and thoughtful. “What if I told you,” he started—mischievously?—as his eyes met Caleb’s, “you could improve those chances significantly?”

“Why?” He asked suddenly. “I have caused enough upset in your house I should think. My very presence here could get you in a lot of trouble, not to mention what would happen to me.

“You have given me clothes and food, a bath… gone out of your way, it seems, to… to… whatever it is you are doing. You tell me I am a guest but I do not know what that entails, and you have knowledge of this mirror, knowledge even the Academy did not have on it. If I am your guest as you say, then I ask that you share this knowledge with me, please, because I hardly wish to spend the remainder of my life in its custody. There is someone out there, sending you letters and magic rocks, someone who clearly knows more, and I would use them to their fullest to wring out all the information they had.”

Essek regarded him with an unreadable expression during his outburst, listening to every word before standing slowly, deliberately, and moving forward. Caleb noted the Kyrn’s feet still did not move, but more than that it was that damned lack of an expression on his face that brewed ire in him.

“Is that what you would do?” The Shadowhand inquired, advancing still on Caleb’s position, and it was in this moment that Caleb remembered he was armored only in a towel. “Use this anonymous source as information? Then what? Would you discard them when they were no longer of use to you? Destroy them, perhaps? Does your quest for information, for knowledge, leave a path of desolation in its wake, Mister Caleb Widogast of Blumenthal?”

Caleb’s breath caught in his throat as now Essek Thelyss stood less than a foot from him, made taller—and more imposing—still by the fact that he was floating a few inches off the ground. He was having trouble breathing, afraid to exhale, desperately trying to find something to do with his hands as they were starting to shake. Confrontation such as this had never been his strong suit. Where was Frumpkin?

He stiffened as Essek’s breath on his ear brought him painfully back to awareness.

“Or are you more than what they made you?”


	12. Chapter 12

He had been molded in the Empire. Trained by the Empire.

_Robbed by it._

_“…are you more than what they made you?”_

Was he?

“Essek, I… Lord Thelyss, I have already decided to… I am already betraying my country by giving you the information I have. That is not to say that I feel the person who sent that letter is doing the same; knowledge such as what they are offering, however, is that not knowledge worth having?”

He thought the other man would answer as much.

“Mister Widogast,” he began calmly, removing his mantle and placing it on the other man’s shoulders, “allow me to say that being my guest simply means that you are under my protection. That said, humans are very rare here, and while you are not banned from venturing outside, I dare say that it wouldn’t be a wise decision. Secondly, the clothes I gave you are meant to be worn and I would very much like my towel back.”

“N-Now…?”

Something about his posture and tone of voice told Caleb that they would speak no further on the matter of the mirror until he had done as Lord Thelyss asked, though he did find the sudden change in topic to be, well, sudden. Still, this begged the question: could he use his mage hand to take something _out_ of the mirror?

_Los geht’s_. He thought, summoning the spectral hand and mentally picturing where inside the mirror he had folded the luxurious clothing.

He could feel Lord Thelyss’ eyes on him as he sent the mage hand into the mirror. The resistance was not unexpected, about the same as it had been when he’d pulled the arcane focus through, and sweat began beading his brow the longer he maintained his concentration. After a full minute’s concentration, the hand pulled the soft fabric through and delivered it straight to Caleb’s outstretched hand.

There was something…enticing, Essek thought, watching as the other man got dressed, using the towel as a shield of sorts until he at least got his lower half covered. Seeing Caleb dressing in his own clothes somehow made them more appealing, more exotic, perhaps? The dark colors clashing with his skin and making him seem unhealthily pale, but nothing time could not fix.

And time was something Essek had a great deal of interest in.

“Would you like some help?” He asked, finding that the words had not first gone to his brain but had bypassed it completely and were stumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh, yes, please, I… I had no trouble with the clasp before, but for some reason it is-…”

“No trouble. Please, allow me.”

“I must admit, this is all very different from what I imagined of Xhorhas.” Caleb murmured awkwardly, worried when there was no reply. “Master Thelyss?”

Essek was embarrassingly distracted by—of all things—the nape of Caleb’s neck. So much so that he thought nothing of it when he gathered the now-clean strands of the man’s hair and began wrapping a piece of leather around it to keep it pulled back and neat.

Had he just called him Master Thelyss?

He cleared his throat and immediately clasped his hands so as to avoid any other strange impulses. “You are safe here, Mr. Widogast. You are protected to the best of my ability while you are here.”

“I have given you as much information as I have; everything I can remember is written on those pages I gave you before.”

“I understand. Now then, now that you are dressed, may I suggest we sit down to discuss a few other matters at hand? Namely what to do with whomever is responsible for sending the letter from this morning.”

“I… yes, that would be the best course of action, I should think.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Widogast. Let us discuss our options.”

#

A few things were decided over a glass of wine over the next hour or so.

  * rather than use the sending stone that had been provided, letters would be left in various drop sites around Rosohna. It would help Essek determine how closely this person was watching while also not trusting a stone sent from an anonymous sender.
  * Caleb would be given his own room to use while he was out of the mirror. He had already been out for at least three hours already and greatly enjoyed dessert.
  * an attempt would be made by Essek to secure some sort of documentation for Caleb just in case—Light forbid—someone happened to see him.
  * the Empire wizard would also be taught the beginnings of Dunamancy under Essek’s direct instruction, to protect himself as well as to properly watch over the house while he was away
  * Caleb was adorable and downright chatty when enjoying multiple glasses of wine



The last was irrelevant as far as the Dynasty was concerned, but Essek chose to categorize it as an enjoyable way to extract information, not that Caleb was divulging much, but at least he was saying it with a smile. In fact, as Essek sipped his wine without actually drinking any, he noted that Caleb was being very deliberate in what he said and how he said it. What struck Essek as particularly odd, however, was that his manner of evasion was not in a, ‘guard Empire secrets,’ manner but perhaps was more likened to a child hiding something from a strict parent.

How to disarm such ironclad defenses?

“I was very much like you, you know,” Caleb spoke up suddenly, draining three-fourths of his glass and setting it down on the desk between them with an almost resounding finality, “so confident. I really believed in the Empire, in everything it taught us. I _still_ believe it can be so much better than it is if it actually took the time to… to help people. To care about people.”

“The list you gave me before, your list, you hold these people personally responsible for deceiving you?”

He shook his head and slid a hand up one sleeve to grip his arm.

“No, no, it is… it is more than that, Shadowhand, more than just me; they have lied to _all_ of the Empire, manipulated events and the news in order to maintain their control. I will not pretend to know how far this goes, who all is involved, or anything like that.  All I want is…”

“Atonement?” He offered when the other man trailed off.

“Revenge,” he corrected after a deep breath, his voice darker than Essek had heard it up to this point, “they _must_ burn, all of them. I will have it no other way, I…”

Something had interrupted him, caught his attention and distracted him from the current topic. Looking down it took a moment for his addled mind to notice what had changed.

Essek had placed his hand atop Caleb’s, thumb gently moving side-to-side in a comforting and hypnotic gesture. He watched it for a few moments before looking up to meet the Kryn’s gaze.

He spoke before Caleb had a chance to question.

“There are no expectations of you here, and while you have my interest,” he paused, “in what has led you on this path against the Empire, I will not press you for such personal information. Your motives are your own, and so long as they do not go against the Dynasty, I have no issue.”

Caleb pulled his hand back slowly and found himself strangely regretting it.

“What good am I, Lord Thelyss, trapped behind glass? Unable to do anything of meaning without being called back to it whenever it wants?”

“We’ll see what we can do about that. In the meantime, would you like another glass?”


End file.
